


Last Solo Mission

by sainnis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Comfort, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Hair Washing, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pet Names, Post Canon Not Season 8 Compliant, Post-War, Sentient Atlas (Voltron), Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23738953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/pseuds/sainnis
Summary: Keith comes back injured from a Blade mission gone wrong, and while Shiro patches him up, Keith realizes something important about his future.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 400





	Last Solo Mission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlyrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlyrose/gifts).



> This was written for @perfectlyrose for my twitter follower raffle! She requested "hurt!keith and shiro doing the comforting" and gave me total freedom of how it might play out. Thank you for giving me such an amazing prompt! It was such a treat to write this for you and I hope you enjoy it!

At 02:04, Keith guides what’s left of his battered ship into Atlas’ docking station in a cloud of smoke. She’s failing, coming apart under him, and her landing gear refuses to engage as Keith skids to a screaming stop, slamming his bruised ribs into the control panel upon impact. When he left three weeks ago, she’d been a sleek fighter, all gleaming edges and trimmed in black and silver, but his mission had gone to shit and the two of them barely made it out alive. Keith climbs out of the cockpit with a groan, grateful that the hangar is nearly empty at this hour. A quick flash of his badge gets him out of any questions from the few curious crew.

As he steps away, he slips in a bit of fuel, boots slick on the hangar floor. She’s leaking. We have that in common, he thinks grimly as he presses his gloved hand over his left side, grateful his Blade uniform doesn’t show blood easily. If he can just stay upright and make it back to the captain’s quarters, his quarters now, he’ll be all right. It wouldn’t be a Blade mission if he didn’t come back a little worse for wear. He glances down the hall, still in stealth mode. Avoiding the main decks is priority one. Hunk likes to tinker in his labs at night and lately Allura has been taking intergalactic meetings at all hours. Running into any of the paladins would result in a one-way trip to medbay and Keith only has one destination fixed in his mind.

Home. 

Walking takes more effort than he’d like to admit. By the time he makes it to the closest elevator, he’s breathing hard, like he’s gone four rounds with Shiro in a friendly sparring match, that kind that ends with one of them sprawled on the mat and the other grinning down in triumph. God, he’s missed that smile. He grips the handrail inside the elevator, drawing a shaky inhale. He’s almost there. This is nothing. This isn’t even close to bad enough to make him miss the Castle of Lions and its healing pods. Coran’s working on an Earth prototype, but it’s still years away from functionality. Meantime, Keith will have to heal the old-fashioned way: by bandaging his wounds secretly in the bathroom while Shiro is still asleep. 

He scans his ID to get to the captain’s quarters. Only certain Atlas crew members have access and Atlas herself occasionally is known to deny people entry if she determines the guest would not be welcome. The panel in front of Keith lights up as the elevator speeds him to the correct floor, finally opening up to the door he’s been dreaming of for weeks. He grabs his right glove between his teeth, tugging it off, and puts his palm over the scanner. Keith sees a few drops of blood on the glass as the door opens and he quickly wipes them away with his sleeve before stepping inside the dark quarters. 

A soft puff of air greets him, followed by a warm, wet lick along his cheek. “Hey there,” Keith says quietly, scrubbing his hand over his wolf’s shaggy head, bumping their foreheads together. “Shh.” Kosmo’s whines are plaintive as he flops over on his side, belly exposed. It’s painful to drop to one knee, but Keith does, rubbing the soft fur over his stomach and whispering, “My good boy. Look at you. Missed you. Aww, who’s been so good, taking care of Shiro?”

Kosmo thumps his massive tail against the carpet, tongue lolling in the sheer joy of being reunited. Keith groans softly as he gets to his feet, stepping into the kitchen to grab a chewy stick. “Here you go, buddy.” Kosmo wriggles on the ground on top of the treat before scooping it up and running off towards the den to devour it. Keith fills a glass with water and downs it in one gulp before doing it again, and again. The water on Atlas tastes like fine wine in comparison to the recycled shit he’s been drinking for weeks, and his ship’s filtration system stopped working eight hours before landing. 

The bedroom door is closed. Keith’s glad for it, if he’s honest. Shiro needs the rest. Neither one of them sleep well without the other, but Shiro’s sleeplessness is sharper. It hangs on him differently, like a badly fitted jacket. This isn’t Keith’s first Blades mission since he and Shiro got together, but he’s never come back quite so bloody before. Keith crosses to the smaller bathroom near the guest room, taking small steps so as not to aggravate his aching side. If he can just get cleaned up before he sees Shiro, get some gauze taped on and the blood washed out of his hair, it’ll be better for both of them. 

He flicks on the bathroom light and checks out the damage, wincing. The cut along his temple is small, clotted already. His neck is worse; the stain spreads from top of his neckline to his collarbone. He’ll need to get his uniform off to see to it properly. That one was his own fault; he’d been a second too late to realize the diplomatic conversation had failed and by the time he brought up his knife to block his the prince’s weapon, their blade had already gotten inside his defenses, drawing a quick line of fire along Keith’s throat. He’d had to fight his way out, and even though Atlas challenges him with new practice droids every week to keep his skills fresh and his body primed, Keith was bleeding from at least four places by the time he made it to the hangar. 

Keith frowns at himself in the mirror. This is going to take awhile. Under his boots, the soft bathroom mat beckons, and Keith resists the overwhelming urge to just lie down on the floor. Instead, he grits his teeth and flings open the medicine cabinet, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic. His tired fingers miscalculate, knocking the bottle off the shelf and bringing down an armful of products with it, each clattering into the sink in a crescendo of plastic hitting ceramic, the noise echoing in the tiny room. 

Well, fuck. 

Lights go on outside the bathroom. Footsteps thud. Shiro calls his name before he appears in the doorway, his starlight hair mussed and pillow marks pressed into his cheeks. He’s wearing a white tank top and soft gray joggers with Atlas’ emblem on the right thigh. He’s so beautiful that for a moment, Keith can’t breathe. “Baby, you’re home! You’re…” Shiro stutters to a stop. “Oh my God, you’re hurt.”

“It’s not that bad,” Keith says, but when Shiro crosses the room in two steps and gathers him close, he lets himself fall against Shiro’s chest, relaxing into his arms. The scent of ginger and lemon rises up from Shiro’s skin. Keith remembers the last time he smelled it, right before climbing into the cockpit, when Shiro pulled him in for one last embrace before takeoff. It smells like safety, like cozy nights twined in bed, like the hoodies Keith borrows and hates to return. The cadence of Shiro’s heart is steadying, the beats as familiar as a song. Aside from Shiro’s voice, it’s his favorite sound. “Not that bad,” Keith repeats. “I promise.” 

“When did you get in?”

“A few minutes ago.” Keith drags a ragged breath, savoring Shiro’s arms around him. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. Let me take a look at you, love.” Shiro pulls away to run a hand over Keith’s chest. His fingers brush over a wound hidden under Keith’s suit, making him wince, and Shiro stills immediately. “Oh, sweetheart. Atlas, can you do a scan for injuries?” He presses a kiss to Keith’s forehead. “I know you never want to go to medbay, but we need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

Atlas hums. “Welcome home, Keith. Stay still. Scan commencing.” Keith feels a slight vibration start at the top of his head and make its way down his body. It doesn’t cause pain, but it leaves Keith feeling a little dizzy and he’s grateful to lean against Shiro. “No internal organ damage. No musculoskeletal or neurological damage. Superficial wounds present. Elevated heart and respiratory rate. Total blood loss 13%.”

Shiro’s hold tightens on Keith by a fraction. “13%? Does he need IV fluids?”

“Negative. Homeostasis can be restored with oral hydration.”

“I already had some water.” Keith rubs his cheek against Shiro’s tank top. “Atlas, please tell Shiro I don’t need a doctor.”

“Shiro, you possess the basic field care certifications to care for Keith’s current health status.” Keith’s never loved her more than in that moment. “If you wish for me to contact emergency services, however, please think or say so.”

Shiro’s hand cups the back of Keith’s neck, slipping under his short ponytail. “The two of you ganging up on me, huh?” He squeezes gently. “All right. We’ll get you cleaned up. Let’s move to our bathroom, yeah? Are you okay to walk?”

“I’m good.” Keith takes a step away from Shiro and towards the door, but he sways. The adrenaline that got him back to their quarters is fading, leaving exhaustion and weakness in its wake. “Shit.” He stumbles, bracing himself for a fall. 

Steady hands catch him before his knees buckle. “Let me help you, sweetheart.” In one quick move, Shiro sweeps him up, holding Keith against his chest. 

“I’m too heavy for you to carry,” Keith protests, but Shiro’s already across the hall with Keith held securely in his arms. Granted, his new attached prosthetic gives the advantage of mechanical strength, so Keith’s less worried about Shiro accidentally throwing his back out in a show of tenderness. 

Shiro settles him on the edge of the bathtub, which Atlas designed herself and is the most decadent space Keith’s ever taken a shower. “Just relax, okay? I’ve got you.” Shiro retrieves supplies and towels from the closet and returns to kneel at Keith’s feet. “I’m going to take your suit off. Is that all right?”

Keith nods, one hand resting on Shiro’s shoulder to steady himself as Shiro’s fingers deftly find the release valve for Keith’s suit. He flicks it and the pressure dissipates, allowing him to undo the fasteners along the seams. The wound at Keith’s neck burns and he hisses involuntarily. “I think the fabric’s stuck. One tick.” Shiro pours some warm water over the spot until it comes away easily. “Sorry, love.”

“It’s fine,” Keith says, letting out a soft groan as Shiro gently brings the suit down over his shoulders and chest, opening it to the waist. Keith glances down. A smear of red crosses his ribs where a long, shallow wound blooms. Another creeps up along his abdomen, smaller and lighter. Bruises cluster along his sides and forearms. It’s actually not as bad as he was expecting, if he’s honest. He’s had far worse before on missions, but he’s never had to see Shiro’s face in the aftermath. His boyfriend’s expression is tight, difficult to read.

Keith waits for Shiro’s panic, or worse, for the lecture. Why hadn’t he been more careful? How on earth did this happen? Why would he agree to something like this without any backup? Why does he keep flinging himself out into the universe like this? 

Instead, Shiro leans forward and presses a gentle kiss against Keith’s mouth. “You’re home, baby. Don’t worry, all right? I’m going to take good care of you.” 

Keith’s chest tightens. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect kindness from Shiro--that was a given--but he wasn’t anticipating such _grace_. “I was trying to spare you all the gory details.” he says, waving at his battered body. “Usually I just, you know, slap some bandages on and try to sleep it off.”

“You’re not on a mission anymore. You don’t have to do this alone.” Shiro holds a square of gauze over the wound across Keith’s ribs, applying pressure to stem the sluggish flow of blood. “God, I missed you. So, so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Keith says. His voice breaks like a fuel line as his throat burns. He reaches out and strokes Shiro’s cheek. “Flying’s not the same without you.”

Shiro’s smile is warm, big enough to make his eyes crinkle. “Nothing’s the same without you.”

Keith can’t help but slide a palm around the back of Shiro’s neck and pull him into a kiss. It hurts his bruised ribs and the wound over his abdomen stings, but the sweet sensation of Shiro’s lips is worth the discomfort. The kiss turns a little desperate as Keith licks into Shiro’s mouth, a needy whine escaping Keith’s throat. He just wants Shiro closer. He breathes him in and feels Shiro’s pulse pick up under his fingers as he tilts Shiro’s jaw up. 

He doesn’t want the contact to end. Shiro’s still pressing gauze to Keith’s chest with one hand but the other buries in Keith’s hair, fingers twining in the damp strands at his nape. He marvels at how Shiro doesn’t flinch at the blood or the sweat, how he doesn’t seem bothered that Keith hasn’t showered in days. It’s a wild revelation to be wanted like this, to be loved even when he’s returned in tatters. He draws Shiro into the kiss as long as he can, trying to make it linger like a held note, until finally the dull pain flaring along Keith’s side turns to fire and he pulls away, a ragged breath shaking out of him. “I love you,” he pants, blinking at the wetness gathered in the corner of his eyes.

“I love you, too,” Shiro says, cradling his cheek in his palm. No place in the universe is as safe as Shiro’s hands. “Keith,” he says, brushing a tear from the edge of Keith’s nose. “God, did I hurt you?”

“No.” He feels a sob well up in his chest and attempts to get his breathing under control. “It’s,” he says, barely able to look at Shiro for fear he’ll fall completely apart. “It’s...just good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home.” Shiro checks the wound over Keith’s ribs. “I think it’s stopped bleeding. That one looks like the worst of them.” He gently squeezes Keith’s hip. “Can you lift up for me for one moment? I’ll get the rest of this off.” Keith grunts, raising his hips just enough so Shiro can release the rest of his suit. He exhales, grateful that the tight pressure of his Blade uniform is gone, but the cool air of the bathroom has him shivering in seconds. He’s used to being naked around Shiro, but he’s never been naked like this: bleeding, shaky, vulnerable. 

He feels more exposed in this moment than perhaps ever before. 

Shiro wraps a bath sheet around his shoulders and presses his prosthetic against Keith’s collarbone. Soothing heat blooms where his fingers touch. “There you go. I can’t stand to see you cold. It’s a crime. You’re always the one keeping me warm.”

It’s true. Keith’s the one chucking off blankets in the early morning when he’s overheated while Shiro slips his arms under Keith’s shirt. “God, that’s nice. I felt like I was never going to warm up on the way back.”

Shiro keeps his prosthetic over Keith’s skin while he assesses the cuts on Keith’s thigh and calf. “I got a message from the hangar right before I found you. They said your ship was about five doboshes away from life support shutting down entirely.”

“It wasn’t my finest hour.” Keith drops his head. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, a thumb dragging over his thigh gently. “You made it back. The only thing that matters is that you’re here and you’re safe.”

“The Blades were counting on me.” Keith drags a hand down his face. He’s not exactly ready to talk about it, but just being in Shiro’s presence seems to loosen his tongue. “The whole thing was fucked and there wasn’t even room for a diplomatic conversation. I tried to avoid a fight, I really did, but it all went from a state dinner to a sword at my throat in about 3 ticks.” He winces as Shiro lifts his ankle to get a closer look at one of his cuts. He must have whacked his knee trying to jump into his ship. “Ow.”

“Sorry, love.” He bends down and kisses Keith’s kneecap, light as a whisper. “Look at me.” He waits until Keith meets his eyes. “There’s no mission that’s worth losing you.” His voice is low, like he’s telling a secret. “Nothing’s worth that.”

Keith’s silent for a long moment as Shiro leans over to turn on the tap, testing the water with his left wrist. “Do you,” he says, not sure how to ask the question. “Want me to stop?”

Shiro puts the plug down and the tub begins to fill. “Stop what?”

“The missions. The Blades.”

An expression crosses Shiro’s face, but Keith can’t tell what it means. Shiro’s ability to school his appearance has only gotten more practiced in his post-war role. “I want you to have the freedom to do what you choose to. I know it’s important to you to stay connected with them.” He lets out a quiet breath. “It’s the privilege you get for saving the galaxy. You get to decide what’s next.”

Keith sighs, cracking open a water bottle next to the tub and draining half of it. “I mean, what if it was up to you?”

“It’s not up to me. We decided. It’s not fair for me to be your boyfriend and your admiral, not like that. You have autonomy, Keith.” Shiro gestures towards the water. “Let me help you in. It’ll be easier to clean your wounds. Plus the water might feel good.”

Keith rises to his feet, trembling, and steps into the perfectly hot water, leaning on Shiro’s arm more than he wants to. He exhales, sliding on his back into the water, tipping his head back against the sloped end of the tub. It’s big enough for him to stretch out and feels luxurious after being trapped in a tiny cockpit.

“There you go,” Shiro says, folding a few towels by the edge of the tub so he can lean over the lip to reach Keith easily. He blots the wound along Keith’s throat with a damp towel. “You need to let me know if it hurts.”

Keith hisses. “It does. But that’s how you know it’s working.”

“You sure you want me to be doing this? They’d probably give you a little of the good stuff if I take you to the medics.”

Keith laughs, grabbing hold of Shiro’s prosthetic wrist and squeezing it gently. “I already have the good stuff right here.”

Shiro huffs, grinning. Keith likes to make him blush. “You’re cute.” 

Shiro’s careful, making sure each wound is clean before he moves to the next one. He falls into quiet as he works, hands steady, breathing slow. Part of Keith’s brain wants to drag Shiro into the tub and just rut against his thigh until all the pent-up emotion and desire from three weeks away from him drains off. The other part wants to crawl under Shiro’s tank top, even as it’s stained with Keith’s own blood, press against Shiro’s skin and just fall into a boneless sleep for a week.

“This must be hard for you,” Keith blurts, before he’s had time to think the comment through. His 13% blood loss has clearly affected his decision-making skills. “If you came home looking like this, after I got you bandaged up, I’d be ready to go kick some ass in a very non-diplomatic way.”

Shiro’s hand stops moving over Keith’s ribs. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t contemplating using Atlas’ powers to retaliate, but that fucking upstart of a prince who dared to make you bleed doesn’t deserve the quick end that her cannons would provide.” 

Keith tilts his chin, a half-smile on his lips. “I thought we were done blowing up things.”

Shiro studies him for a moment before resuming his gentle movements. Keith’s wounds have never been attended to with such a careful touch. “We both got really good at seeing each other hurt for a long time, because we had to. It was the price we had to pay. It’s a little different now, and yeah, it’s not easy. I like you whole and healthy and in my bed after,” he checks his watch, “0300. But what I love is you, you in whatever way you come back to me, because up until recently, I didn’t think I’d get to have this.” He strokes Keith’s cheek. “I am grateful for every tick I get to have you.”

Keith leans into Shiro’s palm as his throat tightens. “I didn’t think I’d get to have this either.”

“We’re lucky like that.” Shiro smiles and puts the towel aside. “Let me wash your hair for you.”

The feeling of Shiro’s fingers against Keith’s scalp are heaven. He closes his eyes, inhaling the same ginger lemon smell that reminds him of Shiro, and relaxes under Shiro’s touch, his sore muscles finally giving into the water’s warmth. “How does that feel?”

Keith groans. “It’s wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” He kneads his fingertips over Keith’s scalp, careful not to bump the small cut on his temple, moving in slow circles. 

“You’re so good,” Keith says softly, lost in a haze of hot water and gentle hands. “So good. Good to me.”

“You deserve it.” He pours water over Keith’s head, shielding Keith’s eyes with his hand. “You deserve only good things.”

Keith hums. “You’re my good thing, baby.”

“You’re mine.” Shiro kisses his forehead before he coats Keith’s hair with conditioner, which Keith usually skips, massaging it along his scalp. “Your hair is so soft. I love how it feels between my fingers.” After using the showerhead to rinse all traces of suds, he brushes through Keith’s hair with a wide-toothed comb in languide strokes. “There we go. I knew I’d find my beautiful Keith under there.”

A little laugh escapes Keith’s throat. “Not so pretty right now.”

“Hush,” Shiro says, kissing Keith’s crown. “Pretty all the time.” He helps Keith stand, rinsing off his wounds once more before wrapping him in a bath sheet. “All right. One step over the side of the tub, and then I’ll dry you off and get you bandaged up before I get you into bed.”

A wave of weariness comes over Keith, making his movements uncertain and shaky, but Shiro steadies him, setting him down on a stool by the sink. Shiro starts talking through everything he’s doing as he applies antiseptic ointment to Keith’s wounds before covering them with gauze and taping them in place. Keith wants to listen, tries to pay attention, but he can’t get over the way this feels. The way that Shiro’s attention is solely on him, the care in his hands, the softness of his voice. Everything he does is so loving that it nearly brings Keith to tears again. 

He always wanted to be able to get by on his own. To stand on his own feet, care for himself. After his dad died, his survival depended on it. When Shiro went missing and he got kicked out of the Garrison, he made it through alone. He never had anyone who didn’t leave, or die, before Voltron. Now that the war was over, the Blade missions let him prove that he can still fly solo. But he’s not sure who he’s trying to prove it to anymore. What felt so important--demonstrating his own competence, completing the missions--feels empty now. 

Lonely. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Shiro finishes taping up the wound over Keith’s ribs and pulls the towel more closely around him. “Are you cold?”

Keith suddenly realizes he’s trembling. “I’m okay. Not too cold.”

“You’re shaking, baby.” Shiro edges into Keith’s space, pulling him against Shiro’s abdomen as he rubs his palm over Keith’s shoulder blades. “Maybe I should have Atlas scan you again.”

“No, it’s not anything like that,” Keith says, gripping Shiro’s bicep. 

“It could be the pain.” Shiro frowns, reaching up to open the medicine cabinet. “I should have gotten you something right away. Let me--”

“Shiro.” Keith squeezes his bicep once. “Listen. I need to tell you something.” He exhales, looking up at Shiro. His expression is still open, but it’s more tentative. He’s worried. Keith’s stomach twists. He’s made Shiro worry. 

Shiro’s prosthetic smooths over Keith’s wet hair as if seeking a wound. “Did something else happen?” 

“I,” Keith says, swallowing. “Would you think less of me if,” He stops, waiting to make sure his words don’t falter. “If I didn’t take Blade missions?”

“Baby.” A relieved breath punches out of Shiro. “I would never think less of you. Under any circumstances.”

Keith’s face presses against Shiro’s stomach, feeling the warmth of him bleed through his thin tank top. He mumbles into Shiro’s abs.

Shiro rubs his back. “I’m sorry, love, can you say again?”

Keith tips his chin up to meet Shiro’s gaze. “I don’t want to be solo anymore. I’m… I’m done. I don’t want to be away from you for weeks or months. We saved Earth. We saved the galaxy. We saved each other.” Keith shakes his head, marveling at the man in front of him, marveling that Shiro is _his_. “What’s it all worth if I’m not with you?” He touches the gauze at his throat. “If that fucking prince had cut a little deeper, if I had moved a little slower--”

“You didn’t, though. You lived. You’re here.” Shiro’s touch is grounding, soothing. 

“I know.” Keith lets himself be held. It’s taken him so long to learn how, but Shiro’s been patient. So patient. “But I figured it out. I am fine on my own. But I’m so, so much better with you.”

“Me too.” Shiro’s laugh is kind and soft. “Us Black Paladins gotta stick together.”

“Yeah, we do.” Keith exhales, relieved. “I’m not saying no more missions ever. Just, you know, not without you. Not anymore. Not if I can help it.”

“It’s a good plan.” He holds Keith close. “I like being on your team.”

“Same.” Keith gestures at himself. “Besides, look what happened without you watching my six?”

“I promise,” Shiro says, a slow grin spreading across his face, “that I will watch your six all day and all night long.” 

“Shiro.”

“I can’t get enough of that six.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Keith, you got six appeal.”

“Baby, stop.” Keith’s laughing as Shiro slowly helps him to his feet. 

“When you’re better, I’m going to give you the best six of your life.” Shiro holds him close, kissing his forehead. 

Keith nuzzles Shiro’s neck. “What does it say if I tell you I missed your puns?”

“Hmm, probably that you love me and you have excellent taste in jokes?”

It feels good to laugh, even though it hurts, and it feels good to walk towards the bedroom with Shiro guiding his steps, even though that hurts, too. The pain won’t last. This, though, this trust and care and love between them, feels more solid than any ground Keith’s ever stood upon. 

Shiro helps him into a pair of loose gym shorts and one of Shiro’s t-shirts before easing him onto the edge of the bed. The shirt’s too big, silkscreened with a cartoon plate of green food goo. Hunk had them specially made for all the paladins. “Don’t lie down yet, okay? I just want to grab you a couple of ibuprofen.”

As he steps away, Shiro stops at the closet to strip off his tank top, which is smudged with bloodstains and dirt from Keith’s uniform. “Looking good, Admiral.” Keith whistles appreciatively as Shiro blushes. 

“You’re a menace.” Shiro shakes his head, grabbing a fresh tank. “My favorite one.” 

He returns with pills and a glass of water, which Keith dutifully swallows. “I sent a message to Veronica. I’m not going to any meetings tomorrow.”

Keith crawls under the covers and as soon as Shiro slides in beside him, Keith creeps against his side, sinking into the warmth of him. “You’re staying with me?”

“I am.”

“And we’ll sleep late? And order in?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Oh, my God, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Shiro turns off the lights via Atlas, which would be less weird if he asked her out loud, which he doesn’t. “ 

“Thank you for patching me up,” Keith says with a sigh. He’s so comfortable, even bruised and bandaged, that he wonders if he’s dreaming already. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He reaches out under the covers to find Keith’s hand, squeezing it. “You think you’ll be able to sleep?”

“It’s been like, over a day since I last slept, so, yeah.” 

“Good. I won’t wake you.” Shiro leans over to kiss the bridge of Keith’s nose. “One more thing. I still want to welcome you home properly, when you're better. Do me a favor and heal quickly, would you?”

In the darkness, cocooned next to Shiro in their warm bed, Keith can barely keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t have to. He’s safe. Protected. Loved. 

“I will, baby,” Keith says, barely able to get the words out before he drifts off. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm on tw [@] starlitruns ✨


End file.
